


breathe in. breathe out.

by paperfolds (starfolds)



Category: Gaya Sa Pelikula (Web Series), Gaya sa Pelikula (RPF)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Gen, so i am here, you're my person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28361229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfolds/pseuds/paperfolds
Summary: Because you are my person and so I am here.(now a collection of random ian&pao snippets.)
Relationships: Ian Pangilinan/Paolo Pangilinan
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He always thought too loud, even without saying anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little something that came about after ian posted this [tweet.](https://twitter.com/ianpangilinan_/status/1342789584187342848?s=19)

The silence that lingered in the air shifted and changed; you were too distracted by your phone to notice when exactly it happened.

You both valued quiet. Idle chatter wasn't always necessary—sometimes it was enough just to occupy the same space and coexist and breathe in some sanity into this whirlwind of a life that the two of you now lived.

(You missed it—really. The characters you played lived and loved and revolved solely around each other for a month and the both of you learned to do that too. You lived that life and built that love together too. And just like your characters? You both broke from your own orbits to stride down a path not just coexisting side-by-side, but one that kept being woven together.

But that bubble ended, and so it was now up to you—the both of you, to create those bubbles in time for yourselves. To make the detours and find the alternate routes along your own journeys to continually meet mid-way.)

The soothing beats from his playlist had ended. You looked to your right and there's his phone, facedown on his chest with one hand covering, holding it in place. His thumb repeatedly traced back and forth along the edge.

You recognized the tension building right there on his jaw. How the gentleness in his cheekbones receded. The constant shifting of eyes that stared at nothing and everything. He had this habit of holding his breath—not on purpose, more out of forgetfulness, kind of. How he paused on the exhale and took his time—maybe allayed the natural instinct to take in the next breath of air.

You nudged him, just a bare whisper of a movement so your elbows brushed against each other. His expression didn't change, but he did glance toward you. And there, at the corner of his mouth formed a shadow of a smile. The slightest upturn of his lips not because he was in the mood for it, not because it showed what he felt, but because he always had a ready smile when it came to you.

Because he always found it effortless, smiling for you.

(You remembered, suddenly, how you both normally preferred the left side of the bed. That it was he who relented, who adjusted. And that default remained, months and months after filming ended.)

You covered his hand with yours. You gave him a bigger smile—not asking, not in waiting. Not demanding anything. More of a reminder really, not to venture too far away along whatever road his mind had chosen to explore.

It was his character who originally did the act but you mimicked it perfectly: you lifted his hand and took it in yours and tangled your fingers together. With careful attention, you caressed every single knuckle and slotted them one-by-one in their rightful place in between yours.

You brought up your tangled hands to press a kiss on the back of his palm while meeting his gaze again. He answered back with a tight, but gentle squeeze.

And to your relief, he finally inhaled—one big gulp of air that made his chest rise exaggeratedly. The sigh that escaped right after was too loud, and too tired. But freeing too. Necessary.

He squeezed your hand again. He asked a nonsensical question about something that may or may not have happened during lunch. You took the bait, because you always did, and your own lips easily formed that pout that never failed to make him laugh.

He knew. You didn't have to say anything. He always knew. Just like you always knew too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drabble originally posted [ here.](https://twitter.com/pairalin_/status/1342951717814456320?s=19)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's four in the morning and he's never really awake at this hour, unlike you.

It's four in the morning and he's never really awake at this hour, unlike you.

_Kapagod._

Your morning is just starting. It starts with thick books and laptop screens and walls of texts and clacking keys. It starts too early for your liking. It starts whether you like it or not—it starts and seemingly never ends.

You're awake and he is not but you send the message anyway. It doesn't matter if his replies come later rather than sooner (but never _never_ ). You just—

You just need someone to know. How exhausted you are. You just need to speak this exhaustion out into the universe to acknowledge it and accept it and seeing that single word typed out and sent to somebody satisfies that need already.

Yes. You are tired. It's okay to complain about being tired.

You are tired but you can't do anything about it so just move on, Paolo. You have readings to attend to.

He is not always awake at this hour.

But sometimes he is.

Your silent phone lights up and vibrates and already a smile is forming on your face.

You answer with video, only to hear that grunt of protest coming from his end when he sees how bright the light is where you are. He on the other hand is just a dark blur. You can imagine him clearly though: the squinted eyes that struggle to open, the mouth barely moving with every mumble, the eternally messed-up hair.

You don't apologize for waking him—you've long stopped doing that, for this isn't the first, not even the fourth time that this has happened. The guilt never really fades though. But arguing with Ian at this hour is pointless. It'll only wake him up more, and you have disturbed his sleep enough as it is.

"Andyan ba si Ariana?"

"Yeah, dito sya natulog. Nasipa pa nga ako eh."

He grunts again. The covers rustle as he shifts around. You hear him say sorry for waking up Ariana. You hear him soothe her back to sleep. He starts rambling about what he fed her for dinner of all things.

You keep your own answers soft, and your laughter quiet. He never lasts long at this hour—soon enough he'll drift off to sleep again, midword and even midthought.

And just as you learned to stop apologizing for waking him, so has he ceased saying sorry for falling back asleep too.

Not even ten minutes later, and you hear the soft snores from your phone speakers. (That's a lie. They're not soft. They only sound soft because you lowered down the volume.)

But those few minutes were enough. You feel his presence despite how it's been condensed into this small phone screen, despite all the kilometres separating the two of you.

You feel less alone at this hour where the sun hasn't even begun to say hello.

He won't hear the "thank you," that you utter, but you say it anyway. You'll text it later at a more decent hour.

You are still tired. That hasn't changed.

It's just more bearable now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](https://twitter.com/pairalin_/status/1348756620369489920?s=19).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He is your person. And you are his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this [edit](https://twitter.com/lostyouanyway/status/1351824237485465601?s=19).

"You are my person. And so I am here."

He didn't catch you defenseless. He didn't catch you unaware. He didn't slip past the barriers upon barriers you've carefully built over the years.

Sneaking in was impossible when you opened the door yourself.  


Every conversation unlocked another door. Every shared laughter, every quiet hour, every whispered fear—your arms were brimming with all these little spheres that made up who you are and he caught every single one of them: every secret, every quirk, even every mundane thought.  


He took every single sphere and handled it with care, kept them stored in a shelf lodged in the deepest recesses of his heart (because his heart was always the strongest, more than any other person you know—and he would sooner break his own heart first than let your secrets go.)

He took your spheres and you took his shards in return—nevermind how the sharp edges nicked your fingers and how much he apologized for them. Your papercuts were trivial to the deep scars he carried; you'd gladly piece back together these broken jigsaw pieces in his stead.  


You have so much of you in him and he's left so much of him in you that it was fucking terrifying, if you thought about it. (And you try not too, really. Because it scares you as much as it scares him.)

You own his shards now. Just as he owns your spheres. No takebacks.  


His power to hurt you is immeasurable, if he chooses to do so. (You don't think he will. You have to believe he won't.)

He is your person. And you are his.

(May we not destroy each other, is all you wish.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](https://twitter.com/pairalin_/status/1351835735742005249?s=19).


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's taught you many things, endless things, but this is your favourite: he's taught you to acknowledge your happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little something inspired by [one particular scene](https://twitter.com/beerpaplease/status/1363591223483588611?s=19) from the _katabi_ music video behind-the-scenes.

He's taught you many things, endless things, but this is your favourite:

He's taught you to acknowledge your happiness.

He's taught you to find happiness in the smallest of moments, in the quietest of days, in those little pockets of perfection that are gone by in a mere blink.

He's taught you to bundle up these little seemingly inconsequential things and keep them to your heart. A reminder, for when things aren't as perfect. For when days aren't as easy. For when nights get too long and restless.

"(Are you) happy?" He's taught you to ask, constantly.

"I am, actually." It's like your own words surprised you, that first time he asked.

And you were. You are. You continue to be.

You _are_ happy.

You are side-by-side and definitely not alone but in this little corner, at this mere semblance of being on top of the world—

The happiness spills over, and continues to flow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](https://twitter.com/pairalin_/status/1363599247019368448?s=19).


End file.
